<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>seeps in like poison by saunatonttu</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719147">seeps in like poison</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu'>saunatonttu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gawain May Experience a Crisis as a Treat, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Savior of Dalmore, Pre-Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:01:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gawain has a few issues with Wales. Namely its past as well as the current king Aglovale.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gawain/Aglovale (Granblue Fantasy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>seeps in like poison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time he visited Wales after the alliance had been formally signed, Gawain could not relax without Windflash within reach. No helping it; being surrounded by Wales troops everywhere raised the hair at the nape of his neck and sent his skin crawling.</p><p>Blue and white, with a smidge of gold to accentuate the armors of higher-ranking officers. With more white on his own get-up, Gawain could have passed off as one of them. That thought kept nagging at him from the moment he – and Djeeta and the rest of the crew – arrived at the castle.</p><p>“What’s the matter?” she asked on their way to the castle’s dining hall, which Gawain judged could easily feed half a thousand nobles and their servants.</p><p>“Nothing’s the matter,” he said gruffly, once more reaching back to adjust Windflash strapped to his back. His fingers ached under the gauntlets. He should have worn his red armor instead. Wales was an ally, and he was going to make it work, but his body didn’t appear to share the sentiment.</p><p>Djeeta’s furrowed brows didn’t invited any more out of him, and so they entered the dining hall. Vast and imperious as it could be, but Gawain hadn’t expected anything less. Blues and whites and gold there too. Banners hung over the walls. Windows high on the walls, and sunlight streamed in like an uninvited guest.</p><p>Aglovale arrived ten minutes later after Gawain and others had already been seated and appetizers brought to the table. He too was in full armor, as was the custom of a ruler.  The white and gold shone among the blue, which nearly overtook the rest in gaudiness. Aglovale’s retainer Tor trailed behind him, air of seriousness surrounding him as was usual.</p><p>“Forgive my late arrival, Gawain,” Aglovale addressed him with a sharp nod of his head. “I was unable to receive you as I should have.”</p><p>“We haven’t waited for long,” Djeeta and Lyria assured him while Gawain remained silent, feeling as though there was a frog in his throat ready to leap out. The axe weighed against his back, but Gawain sat straight and proud.</p><p>“Is that so,” Aglovale said, a slight smile curling along his mouth that never ceased to look unmistakably smug. Gawain bristled but held himself back. Focused on the food that was brought on. No discussion of sensitive nature would take place over a public dinner table, and so Gawain remained silent as he ate, the taste of chicken and sauce spreading through his mouth under the sound of Aglovale’s restrained little laugh at whatever remark Lyria had made.</p><p>Gawain glanced at him every now and then. Aglovale looked different in this light than he had at the conference. Hair was as golden and gaudy as ever, like his armor, but the furrow between his brows was more at ease, his eyes a little more relaxed.</p><p>Even the Lord of Frost could find it in himself to enjoy a good meal shared by companions, it seemed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Their discussion was delayed until they were led to one of Aglovale’s private studies.</p><p>“Once Father’s,” Aglovale said with a distant – but not quite regretful – tone, “and now mine.”</p><p>It had been years since the last king of Wales had died. Couldn’t have been any slower about it, in Gawain’s opinion, but he rather doubted – from the accounts he had heard in regards to the “old” version of the man – that Aglovale wouldn’t have done the same as his late father.</p><p>They all saw down around a round table, Aglovale first, Tor following, and the rest after them. It was then that Aglovale’s expression turned stern, expectant, and the wrinkles beneath his eyes stood out.</p><p>Gawain didn’t think much of it then.</p><p>He was only there to share his findings from Feendrache and Dalmore and try not to get overwhelmed by his own discomfort. Nothing else, as that was already quite a task.</p><p>By the end of it, Aglovale looked thoughtful. “Not much of concrete proof of anything,” he said tersely, “but it is better than the nothing we have found so far.”</p><p>When he frowned, Aglovale reminded Gawain a little bit of Lamorak. Frowning had been rare for that bastard, but occasionally it happened and the middle child of the three Wales brothers would make a face like Aglovale’s.</p><p>Gawain didn’t like thinking about Lamorak. There too lay a depth of too complex emotion for Gawain to sort through and dissect. Florence was the intelligent one, academically <em>and</em> emotionally.</p><p>It was a relief to get out of Wales and soar through the skies once more.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time Gawain went to Wales, a festival had taken the streets of the castle town. Lamorak and he used to sneak out into Dalmore night for celebrations, too, and for a blink of a moment nostalgia lightened the burdened mind.</p><p>Lamorak was impossible when he got something in his head, and often it had been easier to follow along than to fight him. That didn’t mean Gawain hadn’t fought – he damn well had, as stubborn as a mule, but Lamorak was like a whirlwind: no axe could hope to best it.</p><p>The smell of spices and bread wafted through the streets, and Lyria, Vyrn, and Djeeta kept stopping to inspect different stalls set up around the town square. Gawain didn’t hurry them. Things had been a hassle on Grandcypher recently; it was nice to give the kids some time off, no matter how powerful kids they were.</p><p>Not that Gawain would be eager to voice that sentiment out loud.</p><p>When they approached the castle, they found Aglovale right outside its walls, eyes studying what went on among the citizenry with a cool, calculating look to them. He was like a statue, his posture rigid and quite punchable nose breaking the wind that blew his way. The sunlight seemed to bounce <em>off</em> his hair, to Gawain’s disbelief.</p><p>“Aglovale!” Lyria was the first to call out to him, the cheerful girl that she was. Gawain stayed back when Djeeta and Vyrn joined their companion. Chose to observe Aglovale in his armor and the long stripes of hair that fell upon his chest. Tor was at his side, and another attendant behind them with Aglovale’s sword.</p><p>“Oh, what do we have here?” Gawain heard Aglovale mutter. Aglovale towered over the trio, so Gawain saw him flicking the hair off his shoulder. The gesture, to Gawain’s eyes, looked stiff and unnatural, but the others made no comment on it as the king of Wales continued, “I did not expect you to arrive today specifically.”</p><p>“Tiamat may have helped us with the winds. Just a little,” Lyria confessed. If there was anything brighter than the king of Wales’ hair, it was her voice and smile.</p><p>“It sounds like you were all in a hurry to meet me, then.” Aglovale’s eyes crinkled, his mouth twisted into a smirk as he looked over to Gawain. “I wonder which of you missed me so.”</p><p>Gawain’s mouth snapped open before he could help himself, and he grunted, “Lyria missed you for some reason.”</p><p>“Oh?” Aglovale’s gaze dropped to the girl before him. Gawain had heard the man had a weakness for small animals. Perhaps Lyria counted. Vyrn certainly didn’t seem to. “Is that so.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Lyria said sheepishly. “It’s because we met with Percival in Feendrache recently! We couldn’t come here straight after, so…”</p><p>“Percival, huh.” The smirk returned, though a degree softer than before. Gawain looked away, but his ears worked just fine. Aglovale’s voice rumbled with a pleased tone. “He did write me recently, but he made no mention of you… must have been before you met up with him, then. Now, will you join me inside, or would you prefer a chance to enjoy the festival further?”</p><p>Gawain thought of Lamorak, again. He certainly would have taken the chance to slip into the crowd and mess around.</p><p>“Let’s get the work out of the way,” he said, voice even and without a hint of what he had thought of.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Stepping into the castle was as strenuous now as it had been the first time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The third time they wound up in Wales to report their (lack of) concrete findings, Gawain’s restlessness had nothing to do with the Wales knights nor the memories that often plagued his dreams. Rather, Gawain discovered, it had everything to do with Aglovale’s choice of an attire for their visit.</p><p>It wasn’t his usual blue-white-gold armor, nor even the dress uniform he wore on occasion for Wales’ internal public events.</p><p>Though, to be fair, it wasn’t at the castle – or near it – where Gawain ran into him.</p><p>It was at the central market, and Aglovale wasn’t there as himself. Gawain had only gone there to get a breather from the crew – groups were, admittedly, still not Gawain’s forte – who had been made to wait in Aglovale’s absence from the castle. Which was strange enough on its own: many retainers and attendants were quite upset about it as well, despite putting on a brave face for the guests.</p><p>So Gawain left the castle and wandered to the market with the idle, unacknowledged intention to get something nice for Florence, whose letters kept Gawain sane through the general chaos of Grandcypher.</p><p>But then he ran into Aglovale.</p><p>Not that he recognized him at first, what with the king dressed in a cloak of cheap fabric whose hood covered Aglovale’s head and profile. It was only when Gawain was passing by him – an outsider to the bargaining going on around him – that he caught sight of Aglovale’s sharp brown eyes and the recognizable nose.</p><p>“What the f—”</p><p>Aglovale, very dignified and not at all harsh, pressed his heel over Gawain’s toes to shut him up. His deep voice rumbled over Gawain’s groan, “Be a good knight and stay silent, won’t you? No one has noticed it’s me yet.”</p><p>Gawain’s teeth nearly draw blood from his lip, and inwardly he was listing a hundred different ways to smack Aglovale down from the skies for this. Good king he may be, but Gawain had limited patience for rulers at best of times.</p><p>Still, he followed Aglovale to a side street when the king beckoned for him to follow. Easier for his murder intentions. Inwardly, Gawain sent a half-hearted apology to Lamorak, who probably wouldn’t really care for it.</p><p>Didn’t really matter.</p><p>On the empty side street, Gawain completely forgot about his murderous thoughts when Aglovale pulled off the hood from his head and revealed his face and golden hair that had been tied into several intricate braids and then tied up once more. A long stripe of hair still fell to Aglovale’s cheek and neck.</p><p>In simple commoner clothes and hair tied up like that, it gave more attention to Aglovale’s face and the brown eyes that stared intently at Gawain.</p><p><em>Huh</em>, Gawain thought distantly, <em>not a terrible look for him.</em></p><p>And that was what brought on Gawain’s crisis for the several days to come.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For the time being, however, there was a conversation waiting to happen, and so Gawain lifted an unimpressed brow at Aglovale. “What are you up to, king of Wales?”</p><p>“Sometimes, one must study the public from their perspective,” Aglovale said, eyes glancing over the street once more before relaxing just the littlest bit. No one but them was around, and the smell of flowers from open windows infiltrated their senses. It was spring, and Wales was beautiful.</p><p>Gawain said nothing about all that. He had given Aglovale enough compliments at the conference to last a lifetime. (Or what could pass of as compliments to someone that studied Gawain’s words.)</p><p>“So, that’s what you’re doing? Studying your people.”</p><p>Aglovale’s hand fell to his hip. A sword-less hip. Gawain’s mouth fell into a frown but didn’t say anything as he was sure Tor would speak to his liege about the dangers of this trip regardless of Gawain’s actions. It wasn’t any of his business, to begin with.</p><p>So why did it annoy him so much?</p><p>“Yes, more or less,” Aglovale said, with a hint of a smile. His smiles were like his swordplay, Gawain mused. Dangerous and sharp. Both put Gawain on edge. The axe at his back was well within his hand’s reach.</p><p>“I am limited to the castle town, of course,” Aglovale continued, cocking his head as he looked around them, “but I find it reflects well enough how the citizenry fares around the rest of the country, as well. But people are less honest to their kings than they are to who they consider their equals, you see. And, of course, there are the construction projects that I must inspect with my own eyes.”</p><p>As he spoke, Aglovale’s smile relaxed and so did the wrinkles around his eyes. The dark bags beneath them were noticeable as Gawain studied his face further, startlingly so. “You don’t trust your retainers to report to you truthfully?”</p><p>Aglovale waved his hand, dismissing the words. His fingers lacked any rings or other décor they usually might have had. “They speak the truth, but they may feel the need to soften it for whatever reason. And, more importantly, it’s always best to take a look at things yourself. A ruler must not forget his citizens or distance himself from them. But the role of a king always requires strict etiquette and formality.”</p><p>Gawain thought about the archduke back home. If he had a shred of Aglovale’s pride and dignity, not to mention the physical prowess of a military commander, well—Gawain shooed the thought off before it could manifest fully.</p><p>“Shall we head back?” Aglovale asked him when he remained silent. “I’d hate to be so ungracious of a host as to keep your crew waiting. And I am more curious of how you are faring than the town now.”</p><p>“Why?” Gawain asked as Aglovale pulled his hood back on. The golden tangle of braids disappeared under the fabric, and the day looked a little less bright for it. “It’s the same old story as always with this crew.”</p><p>He followed Aglovale, who did not look back to him once but who’s attention remained on Gawain all the same.</p><p>Gawain kicked a pebble off his path and ignored the discomforting feeling that being alone with the king of Wales left in him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The fourth time lasted longer than their usual visits, and it rewarded (punished?) Gawain with more alone time with the king. They had discussed the cabal and Lusor’s ongoing mysteries, but Aglovale had afterwards invited them to stay for a little while.</p><p>“My brother is coming to visit soon,” he told Lyria, whose expression brightened the same way Djeeta’s did. “Percival would be sure to rejoice meeting you here.”</p><p>And so they stayed, even when their official reason for visiting had come to pass.</p><p>Gawain spent most of his time observing the knights’ training in the castle yard, though it seemed none appreciated him butting in with his tips for grip adjustment and stance. Their loss, Gawain supposed as he backed off.</p><p>He tried to not think about Lamorak or Aglovale, for different reasons but it culminated to <em>too complicated</em> in both cases. Gawain didn’t want to deal with them, nor Percival, but what was he to do, forcibly take his captain and make Rackam steer Grandcypher away from Wales?</p><p>Not the worst idea, to be honest.</p><p>Either way, one night, just as Gawain was readying himself for bed, one of Aglovale’s pages came to him with an invitation for him to join Aglovale in the king’s personal bed chamber.</p><p>“His Majesty insisted on making sure you read it and join him,” the boy said, and Gawain sighed irritably as he cast an eye at his armor he had already taken off himself. Trust in others had been a wavering thing since the old days in Dalmore, and some things had yet to change.</p><p>Eh, what the hell. Aglovale wouldn’t kill him.</p><p>That was what Gawain thought then.</p><p>A fatal mistake, in hindsight.</p><p>The moment he entered the king’s chambers, he damn near choked on his own tongue at the sight that awaited him inside. He froze at the door, but his hand numbly closed it behind him anyway. Silence fell, and Aglovale’s expectant stare fell on Gawain like a bolt of lightning.</p><p>Lord of Frost never ceased to surprise in the gaudiest ways.</p><p>Though, Gawain supposed as his heart finally came down from his throat, the effect Aglovale hoped for had been achieved.</p><p>“Join me for a glass,” Aglovale said, and it did not sound much like a suggestion. The king gestured at the bottle of wine atop the low table before the couch he lounged on in – in what could barely be more than a nightgown. Gawain felt his cheeks heat up once more as he caught the sight of Aglovale’s bare knee as the fabric of the long tunic slid up at Aglovale crossing his legs.</p><p>What the <em>fuck</em>.</p><p>Gawain walked stiffly to the couch opposite from the one Aglovale sat so casually on. The tunic was white with blue highlights, very pretty to someone else’s eyes, but Gawain was just glad it wasn’t see-through.</p><p>“You wanted to see me,” he said, just as stiff as his walk to the couch had been. He couldn’t quite meet Aglovale in the eye. The brown eyes appeared to gleam red in the candlelight, and Gawain’s skin prickled even as he looked down. Aglovale – or a servant – had already poured him a glass before his arrival.</p><p>“A little conversation before bedtime,” Aglovale said with a little laugh that still came deep from his throat. “If you would indulge me.”</p><p>The tunic had a deep neckline. Gawain caught a glimpse of a collarbone and pale skin – what little of it wasn’t covered by Aglovale’s mane-like hair.</p><p>Lamorak would have an interesting time studying his elder brother’s behavior, Gawain thought in a daze when he couldn’t quite keep himself from thinking backwards in time.</p><p>Gawain took the glass of wine and dumped the alcohol into his mouth.</p><p>“Seems to me you had already decided, regardless of my own will,” he muttered and licked his lips clean under Aglovale’s intent stare. He had no axe to defend himself with. No armor to conceal himself in.</p><p>He felt rather naked like this, he found.</p><p>Aglovale chuckled, bringing his glass to his lips. “I anticipated you would agree, nothing more.”</p><p>“Lamorak always said you two were like night and day, but I am beginning to doubt whether that was true,” Gawain grumbled as he leaned over to refill his glass. The wine was red like the blood that rose to his cheeks.</p><p>Astrals be cursed, this was going to kill him.</p><p>Aglovale perked at the mention of his little brother. “Lamorak, huh… That’s right. I believe you were fairly close with him, weren’t you?”</p><p>“For a time.” Gawain tried to not wonder where Lamorak was. Wondering about that man never ended up going anywhere but a headache town.</p><p>“Hmm.” Aglovale’s eyes closed with his hum. “He used to run around naked all the time when he was young, that one. Mother had a terrible time running after him.”</p><p>“Sounds like the Lamorak I knew.”</p><p>Aglovale laughed, the sound more genuine than Gawain had heard it yet. “It does, doesn’t it? Though goodness knows what kind of man he is now.”</p><p>Whatever the man’s feelings about his brother’s absence were, Aglovale didn’t reveal them, not in words and not with his face. Not with his body language in general. Gawain’s eyes slipped to the muscular legs that the table was too low to hide from sight. A few scars stood out in the dim light.</p><p><em>My, ogling at Aggy, are you?</em> the Lamorak that lived rent-free in his head cooed. Gawain shoved the mental image of Lamorak’s teasing smirk away and aggressively sipped at his wine. Tried to not break the glass with his bare hands. Florence oft told him he was a horrible guest; he was trying to do better now.</p><p>“Probably not any better than he was before,” Gawain muttered and slammed the glass down on the table. “Was this social call really necessary? You could have waited till morning.”</p><p>“No, that would be rather counterproductive,” Aglovale said and swirled his own glass, eyes down on the red liquid. For a moment, the king looked almost vulnerable, but his face hardened again into a confident mask. “I was told that a short conversation unrelated to politics would help to destress before sleep.”</p><p>“Huh.” Gawain studied Aglovale closer. Now that he mentioned it… “Having trouble sleeping, then?”</p><p>“Not so much as to call it <em>trouble</em>,” Aglovale said instantly, the dismissive tone harsh. “Healers are a fussy folk, so I decided to play along with their suggestions for their sake.”</p><p>“Sure,” Gawain said. “Of course. Whatever you say.”</p><p>“Taking such a tone with a foreign king,” Aglovale said with a surprisingly pleased chuckle. He uncrossed and crossed his legs again, the hem of his tunic shifting with the movement. “Fearless, you are. I think I quite like that about you.”</p><p>Gawain’s brain went into a prompt lockdown.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When he could finally think again, he was already back at the door of his own guest chambers, breathing uneven and feet staggering beneath him. Too much wine, or too much Aglovale. Both were bad for his health, that was for sure.</p><p>Gawain rubbed at his face. Considered waking Djeeta and making a run for it with the rest of the crew. Aglovale’s legs slipped to his mind. Gawain let out a muffled scream.</p><p>Wales was the bane of his existence.</p><p>Was Lamorak not enough, for Astrals’ sake?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>slut aglovale agenda lives (or does it)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>